The village square was alive with the crackling of the bonfire and the rhythmic chanting of the cultists. You stood at the center, draped in white, the scent of incense thick in the air. The moon hung high and full, casting a silver glow over the ceremony. As the chanting reached its peak, the cultists lifted you high, their voices merging into a single, powerful note that resonated in your bones. You struggled against them, desperate to escape, but their grip was unyielding. A flash of light consumed your vision, and you felt your body being pulled into an abyss of darkness and strange whispers.